Moving on Up
by HellfireSupremacy
Summary: Heather is moving up in the world. She's just joined ranks with the finest company on Tellius, and she may have already trumped Soren as Ike's closest adviser. So, what comes next for the Rogue? Written for Fire Emblem MewMew's Heather/Man challenge.
1. Braggarts, Buffoons, and Perverts

**This Fic was written for Fire Emblem MewMew's Heather-Falls-in-Love-With-a-Man challenge. The main pairing will be Ike/Heather, with some Boyd/Mia on the side. I'm giving you fair warning: some scenes will contain excessive drinking, swearing, and comic violence. They will be easily recognizable as "campfire scenes," or otherwise any scene involving Boyd. (I use thieves and axe-men as comic relief in my writing, a theme some of you have probably picked up on already). **

**There will however be ABSOLUTELY NO LEMONS in this story, as I intend to comply with the challenges (T) rating requirement. Furthermore, in compliance with the over-arching theme of money specified by Fire Emblem MewMew, Heather and Ike's relationship will begin as a financial arrangement and progress from there. **

**I don't own Fire Emblem. **

**Prologue: **

**Braggarts, Buffoons, and Perverts **

Heather didn't hate men. She'd just never met a real one.

The men in her home village were a repugnant breed of slack-jawed hillbillies: corn-fed, inbred, brain-dead, buffoons. Not a good looking one in the bunch; Heather could honestly say she wasn't attracted to any of them.

Could you blame her?

Then there were the less than stellar gentlemen of Melior. Shifty-eyed weasels all of them; more concerned with their power and their politicking than treating their womenfolk right. What good was a man who would rather count his gold than lay with his wife? Heather had no use for any of them.

Again, could you blame her?

She had all but given up on ever finding a decent man. The fairy tales she had read as a child were lies, they had to be. Prince charming; what a joke! Princes were pompous, arrogant, obnoxious braggarts. As was any man with a hint of wealth, power, or physical appeal. And those dashing figures that the fairy tales called "charmers," what were they after? In the real world charmers had another name, perverts, and they didn't stop at wooing their lady fair with poetic psalms. They had other ideas.

_All men can't be this worthless_ she told herself as she wandered from town to town, making her rounds, robbing the fools blind. They always were though; that was the problem. Braggarts, buffoons, and perverts: to Heather, it seemed a fairly accurate summary of the male condition…

…or at least it had, until she met the Griel Mercenaries.

Ike's men.

Real Men.

Manly Men.

Capable fighters, reliable comrades, and not bad on the eyes either. Boyd was absolutely ripped. Gatrie redefined the old adage "built like a tank." Shinon was secure enough in his masculinity to traipse around the battlefield sporting the gayest ponytail of all time...and he still somehow managed to look badass every time he fired off a bow.

Of course they had their faults, as did all men. They boasted. They swore. They drank excessively; that just made them boast and swear louder. Gatrie was a shameless skirt-chaser, Shinon was a mean drunk, and Boyd was a bit of a knucklehead. But they were—without question—the best at would they did, and there was an exclusive sense of comradely to be had being counted among their ranks. Heather enjoyed their company immensely. And while she had originally signed on to stay close to Nephenee, Heather's fancies had long since shifted from the unremarkable farm girl to the manly men of the company.

The REAL men of the company.

Now they were making merry by light of the campfire, downing booze and trading stories to a chorus of laughter and mirth. Ike and his staff officers were noticeably absent, Ranulf having detained them at this late hour with security details and mission briefings. With massive amounts of alcohol being consumed and no commander present to maintain discipline, the gathering of mercenaries was starting to get out of hand. The camp was a complete mess; weapons and armor tossed every which way, no class, no professionalism. A stranger chancing upon them would never suspect he had just stumbled upon the best damn company of soldiers-for-hire in the world. Heather wasn't fooled though. She had seen them in action too many times now. She knew what they were capable of.

They were the best at what they did. And what they did was murder armies.

"So get this…" Boyd goes off in between swigs of hard liquor. The axe man is in story-teller mode, bragging of his exploits to a campfire congregation. "I'm just standing on this drawbridge, cut off from the rest of the troops, staring down the Begnion army. I've got a full line of soldiers closing in on me and my axe is TRASHED,"

"Not unlike yourself ya' drunk son-of-a-bitch…"

"Yo Shinon, shut the fuck up! I'm talking here!" Boyd bellows. "So anyways…I'm on this bridge, right? And these soldiers are coming at me. Well…I notice that their general is just hanging back, barking out orders, not doing much of anything in a fight. And that's when I remember…I've still got my hammer. So I'm all like 'MOVE BITCH, GET OUT THE WAY!' And I just start tossing soldiers out the way like it's none of my business. I'm not even hitting them. I'm just lifting them straight up and tossing them off this bridge. "

"He's not making any of this up by the way," Mia struggles not to break out laughing as she talks. She knows what's coming next, and it's hilarious. "I actually saw this happen. Listen to this. It gets SO much better," she chuckles, barely able to restrain herself. "What happens next Boyd?"

"Shit goes down is what happens next," Boyd takes a straight shot of gin. He becomes even louder and more obnoxious. "I'm on this bridge tossing muthafucka's out the way, tripped out on adrenaline. I'm about to beat a man to death with a hammer. I'm in the fucking zone."

"Oh god, I remember this…" Gatrie too now recalls the events of Boyd's campfire story. "He wound up hitting Mist somehow…"

"That's not what happened at all," Boyd protests. "I hammer-smashed this general in the face, and his head went FLYING! Next thing I know I here this god-awful scream. It's Mist. She's freaking out. Apparently I just sent this smashed-open head barreling at her. I didn't even know."

"She flipped a shit," Gatrie belly-laughed. "Funniest god-damn thing I've ever seen. She wasn't hurt or anything; just screaming like she'd never seen blood before."

"Seems like something that would piss Ike off," Heather challenged Boyd. "You scaring his sister like that, and bragging about it after the fact like its some great achievement." She smiled wryly, knowing she was about to get a rise out of the axe man. "You've got balls Boyd, but I wonder. Would you still be telling that story if Commander Ike were here."

"No," Ike's stern, reprimanding voice spoke out. "No, he wouldn't."

An awkward silence fell over the mercenary camp. Apparently the commander hadn't been detained quite so long as they had thought. Nor had his officers: Soren and Titania were back, and they did not look happy. Ike too seemed less then pleased; clearly in no mood to deal in campfire frivolities.

"We leave for two hours and the entire camp goes to hell," Soren face-palmed. "Incredible..."

"I'm so not in the mood for this tonight," Ike growled. "Boyd, what the hell are you doing here? You're supposed to be on guard duty."

"I am on guard duty…" Boyd proclaimed boldly, even as he downed another shot. "Everyone in camp is right here. I'm guardin' em."

"Who's watching the stables?"

"Nephenee."

"And the foodstuffs?"

"Ilyana."

"You left Ilyana in charge of our food supply…" Ike blinked incredulously. "Why?"

"Meh…" Boyd took another swig and fell back into his seat, half leaning against Mia for support, half copping a feel. At which Mia could only giggle and slap him teasingly. "Seemed like a good idea at the time."

"Great…" Soren threw his hands up in frustration. "Now if Skrimir's nonsense doesn't get us all killed, we can still starve to death like proper mercenaries. Good job."

"Pffttt…like you eat anything anyway. You're tiny. I make craps bigger than you." Boyd taunted with colorful language and drunk logic. "Shit…if anyone's gotta worry about starving to death it's me."

"So says the imbecile who just sent a girl with a compulsive eating disorder to guard the company's food supply!" Soren shouted. "I hope you really do starve! I hope you drop dead; I'm sure we'll get by just fine without your brilliance!"

"Harsh," Boyd takes yet another swig, for no other reason than because he can and because he enjoys it. "I love you too man," he adds with good cheer.

"Captain," Ike addressed Titania by rank. Seeing that there was a problem afoot, and seeing moreover that no one else planned to do anything about it accept make witty retorts, Ike took charge of his company. "Relieve Ilyana of her duties. And for the love of God…don't feed her."

"Aye commander."

"The rest of you, clean up this mess! Come on people…we're not amateurs. Swords go in their holsters, not on the floor. I should not be seeing blades mixed with bottles; that's such bad form."

"…What…we're running this like a real army now," Shinon rose up in indignation. "To hell with that, I left Daien to get away from this bullshit."

"Don't even lie," Mia called him out. "You left Daien because Ike beat your ass back into line."

"That I did," Ike affirmed. "And I'd do it again to keep you on the straight and narrow; that goes for all of you. Come on now, I don't ask much, but this…" the commander crunched an empty handle of liquor beneath his boot. "…this is unacceptable. I don't ever want to see this again; my camp in this condition. It reflects so poorly on the company; on you as professional soldiers, and on me as your commander. Don't let it happen again, or we're going to have problems."

"You heard the man!" Boyd polished off the last of his handle. "Clean your junk or he'll beat you."

"Boyd…" Ike glared. "I just might wind up beating you anyway. Or maybe I'll just smack Rolf with a severed head and call it even."

"Rolf at least would take it like a man…" Shinon spoke up, at which Heather couldn't help but burst out in a fit of uproarious laughter.

_Take it like a man_

To her, the verbal flourish evoked a most absurd and comical image. Buffoonish men—grunting and flexing and pounding their chests like a pack of apes—punching each other silly for no other reason than to prove they could. All the while hooting and hollering like wild animals.

Not too far off the mark from a drunken Boyd.

_Take it like a man_

Soon enough, she'd be using that line on Ike. And before long he'd be using it on her.

* * *

**Now at this point your probably scratching your head going "WTF, where's the Ike/Heather?"**

**Bear with me people, I promise there is in fact a Heather pairing in the making. ****In the meantime, reviews are very much appreciated.**


	2. Trusting Crows, and Other Bad Ideas

**Chapter 1: **

**Trusting Crows, And Other Extraordinarily Bad Ideas**

"I'm so, so sorry you had to see that."

"The part where your men had way too much to drink and behaved like raving lunatics, or the part where you had to chew them out and knock them back in line?"

"Both."

Heather, Ike, Soren, and Titania were the only ones still awake at so late an hour. Titania was on guard duty and Soren was immersed in one of his books, so really it was just Heather and Ike.

"I've seen worse," Heather offered "For the amount they had to drink, they were actually quite civil. The worst of it was really just Boyd and Mia slobbering all over each other."

"Yeah…Boyd can be a real pain in the ass sometimes," Ike had all but resigned himself to putting up with the axe man's antics. "We were friends growing up back when my Dad was in charge of the company. Now I'm his boss, so it's really awkward when I have to take him to task. I mostly just let Titania deal with him."

"How's that been working out for you?"

"Surprisingly well. Titania's always been better with discipline, and Boyd's actually afraid of her to boot. You see what happens when she's gone," Ike had clearly taken time to mull things over. "I'm thinking from now on it should just be me and Soren getting intel. Titania doesn't really do anything at the briefs, and someone needs to keep an eye on the rat-pack back at camp."

"Is it really that bad?" Heather thought out loud, noticing how Soren—focused though he was on his readings—twitched involuntarily at the mention of 'intel' and 'briefs.' Ike too seemed to be in a worse than usual mood. "What's wrong Ike? Is Skrimir still giving you trouble?"

"It's…worse than we've been letting on," Ike admitted. Why he trusted Heather with this information, he had no idea. He had to tell someone though, and she was the closest one to him at the moment. "Skrimir thinks everything beyond challenging the enemy on an open battlefield is 'beorc cowardice.' He won't let us use any other tactics, regardless of strategic soundness."

"Huh…that's not gonna work…is it?"

"Not against Begnion," Ike shook his head. "Soren came to the table with this great plan for taking on the Empire. He wanted to meet up with the abolitionist forces in the Grann Desert and move out quietly from there."

"Guerrilla warfare in the desert," Heather nodded her understanding. "Definitely something worth trying against the central army. Heavy armor is useless in the sand, so we wouldn't even have to worry about Zelgius. We'd be able to use much more aggressive tactics with much less risk. "

"There's more to it than that even," Ike sighed. "Soren was explaining it to me earlier; the merits of joining up with Tormod and waging a propaganda war against Begnion. We could have stirred up slave revolts all across the country; challenged the moral standing of the Senators and distracted the central army with open rebellion. Brilliant plan. We could have toppled an Empire. Skrimir didn't want hear any of it. It's all "beorc cowardice" to him.

"Sound's awful," Heather sympathized with Ike's plight. "I mean…if Skrimir's planning is really that bad, you should splinter off from the main army. Soren's got the right idea; desert combat and covert ops. You could support the Alliance behind enemy lines and still fulfill the terms of your contract."

"That's not how the client-mercenary relation works at all," Ike explained. "Once you're contracted to do a job, you follow your employer's commands to the letter. Otherwise you're dismissed without pay, and you'll probably never find work again. That's another problem by the way: the pay. We've been working without it, and we're almost broke."

"Skrimir hasn't even been paying you!?" Heather couldn't believe it.

"He hasn't been paying anyone," Ike stated very matter-of-factly. "There's no money; King Kilvas was supposed to fund the alliance from his own coffers. He never came through, and now we have absolutely nothing to work with. No gold. No gems. Nothing."

"So basically…the crows fucked us."

"That's exactly what happened," Ike was glad he didn't have to explain it twice. "The crows fucked us big time. Now we've got no money, a suicide mission from the most inept general of all time, and the best battle plan we'll never be allowed to use. Aren't we in great shape?"

"To be fair though, Heather spoke from her own experience as a treasure-hunting rogue, "crows are notoriously unreliable. If you're actually dumb enough to trust the Crow King with your money, you get what you deserve when he makes off with it."

"We did not know when we signed up for this job that the agreed payment would be coming from the crows," Soren spoke up upon hearing his competence as a decision maker come into question. "We were contracted by commander Ranulf of the Gallian army, having already done work for the Lion King in prior arrangements. Naturally we assumed payment would be forthcoming from Gallia."

"Well you assumed wrong," Heather challenged the tactician. "And, for what it's worth, that's something you're supposed to check ahead of time. It's kind of a big deal. You boys are lucky though. You've still got an out."

"For dealing with Skrimir, or going broke?" Ike inquired with great interest.

"Both actually," Heather grinned. She had the answers. And more importantly, she had the commander's ear. "The matter with Skrimir is simple enough. Whenever you're doing business with the laguz, you have to do it on their terms. You say you don't want to break your contract and soil your reputation as a mercenary, and that's fine. But that's beorc thinking and it's not how you deal with a laguz employer, especially one of the beast tribe.

"And you would know this how?" Soren cocked an eyebrow in suspicion.

"Rogue business; I've done my fair share of treasure hunting in Gallia. You'd be amazed what people leave in the middle of the jungle. Anyways, I've dealt with laguz employers before. And let me tell you, they don't care too much for contracts. Words on paper mean nothing to them; they establish their chain of command through tests of strength. Once you've proven you're the strongest, they'll let you get away with just about anything."

"Now that you mention it, Ranulf seemed really uncomfortable signing us over to the Alliance," Ike recalled. "Like he wanted to do it, but he didn't understand why it had to be on paper…"

"…because Laguz don't put terms on paper," Heather educated the swordsman. "They fight to see who's strongest, and then the winner sets whatever terms he wants. So if you want to do covert ops, and Skrimir won't let you, all you have to do is fight him and win. Then, by laguz custom, you're free to do whatever you want."

"So you're saying all I have to do is beat Skrimir in a fair fight, and we can go back to following Soren's plans. That's incredibly useful information. In fact…" Ike turned to Soren. "It seems like the kind of information my top adviser should have been providing me with all along. "

"I have no interest in laguz customs," the tactician responded dryly.

"Well you don't need to have an interest in laguz customs to make some money, although knowing not to trust crows helps immensely if your aim is to hold on to it," Heather once more spoke from experience. "Now, concerning your finances. I've acquired quite a bit of wealth in my career as a treasure hunter. Wealth I'd be willing to share with your mercenaries…for a reasonable rate of return."

"How much?"

"Depends," Heather twirled a lock of blond hair. "How much do you need?"

"I don't know…Twenty-thousand at least to cover supplies and basic pay."

"Twenty-thousand?" Heather nodded. "We can definitely make that happen."

"You're not making anything happen till you run it by me," Soren reminded her. "I'm in charge of the company's finances."

"And you've just been doing a bang up job, haven't you?" Heather snipped. "The company's broke."

To this Soren had no reply.

* * *

The morning after the festivities, the rank-and-file of the Griel Mercenaries were most annoyed to be awakened by an obnoxiously loud roar.

Just because the beasts were up at the crack of dawn, didn't mean they had to be.

Ike would of course be angry if they weren't in top form, especially after last night. The mercenaries were quick to don their armor and make haste for their rallying point.

There they found Ike, dripping with sweat and grunting with exertion, standing atop a toppled Skrimir with a tuft of orange hair in one hand and an iron sword in the other."

Not at all how any of them were expecting to start their day.

"Change of plans," Ike spoke without preamble or explanation, still standing with one boot on Skrimir's neck. "We march on Grann."

It would be the first of many times where Ike, uncertain how to proceed, would turn to Heather for guidance. He would come to depend on her in the coming months as he relied on Soren and Titania: as an adviser and as a friend.

He would come to depend on her for so much more.


	3. I Don't Want to Say I Told You So

**Chapter 2:**

**I Don't Want to Say I Told You So, But…**

"So hot…gonna die…"

"Quit your bitchin' Boyd," Ike commanded "You complain more than Gatrie, and he's wearing heavy armor."

They were still just on the outskirts of the Grann Desert's vast expanse, and already the scorching heat was getting to them. It could have been worse. At least it wasn't unbearably humid like back in Gallia; the desert air came in dry and gritty.

"But it's sooooo hot…"

"We know. You've only said it, like, fifteen times now."

"I don't get it," Ike shook his head. "I must not understand women at all, because I really just don't get it. How the hell do you put up with him Mia?"

"I like to laugh, and Boyd is hilarious. It's really not more complicated than that," Mia stated plainly. "Being a woman's got nothing to do with it. You don't understand because you're too serious."

"Ike is head of the company," Heather pointed out. "It's his job to be serious. If he goofs, you die."

"Even when he's not on the job though, he's a complete hard-ass," Mia countered.

"I'm always on the job!" Ike snapped "It's kind of a full time deal. When am I ever NOT the commander of the Griel Mercenaries?"

"Right now," Mia challenged. "What are you doing right now, that you can't just relax and have a good time?"

"Right now I'm trying to get this column to the Laguz Liberation Army base camp in West Grann, without getting ambushed by Begnion soldiers or desert bandits," Ike answered serious as always. "Soren, how far are we from the objective?"

"Three days under optimal conditions, sir," the sage replied formally, seeing that Ike was in no mood for nonsense. "If I may, I would recommend stocking up on supplies before venturing any further into the desert. Once we're in deep, we probably won't have access to markets or traders."

"Good call," Ike affirmed. "You got a particular place in mind."

"There's an outpost over the next dune. That would seem an ideal place to bolster our inventory and plan our next move."

"Really?" Heather spoke up in surprise. "Right over the next dune? That works out perfectly You're taking us right through..."

"…Kahyaeta," Soren cut her off, "an arena town built atop the ruins of the prehistoric city Arkgrothundratep. The town is unremarkable, but the ruins are said to house priceless Zananma artifacts and other treasures yet to be discovered. Naturally it's a favored locale for thieves and fortune hunters which, I'm guessing, is the only reason you've ever heard of it."

"I should think that's reason enough!" Heather found Soren's tone to be more than a little offensive. "Do you have any idea how valuable Zunanma artifacts are?"

"I said they were priceless…"

"Oh trust me, they have a price. A very, very high price. Avid collectors with deep pockets will pay thirty thousand for a single ingot. Duke Oliver use to buy them by the dozen at art auctions."

"Might as well check it out if we're spending the night anyway," Ike reasoned. "I'll go with you while Soren gets our stock in order.

"Oh Ike, you don't have to…"

"No I insist," the commander wasn't going to take no for an answer. "Outlaws and gangs like to hideout in ruins. There's a good chance you'll need the extra muscle. Better safe than sorry; if something happens you'll be glad I tagged along. Besides, I don't want to spend too much time out in the open. I'm the most famous one in the bunch. Watch, I'll be the first to blow our cover."

"Well…in that case you're more than welcome to join me on a treasure hunt, if you think you can keep up," Heather smiled. "You'll have to follow me closely and do exactly what I say. Most of these really old places are rigged with booby-traps, and if you run off on your own you'll probably set one off."

"Okay. I'll make sure I stay extra close…"

"Don't get ahead of yourself," Titania discouraged. She passed her scout's scope to Ike, so that the mercenary commander could see what she had seen. "I don't think it's going to be that simple. Look…"

Ike looked down from atop the desert dunes and saw exactly what Titania was talking about. "Bengion soldiers…the entire town is crawling with them. God damn it!" Ike swore. "What are they doing all the way out in the desert?"

"I don't know," Soren admitted. "But at his point, I'd rather slip by unnoticed then attempt to find out. I don't think we should go through town and risk exposure. For three days, we can pitch camp on the road and hunt small game."

"We don't have that much left Soren," Ike expressed deep concern. "Three days is pushing it, and that's best case scenario. What if we get bogged down in a sandstorm, or an ambush?"

"Your only other option is to go through Kahyaeta , and that will draw unwanted attention to our efforts," Soren reasoned. "Begnion already knows that the Laguz Alliance hired beorc mercenaries to do its dirty work. If our group is seen approaching Grann, someone in the Empire will most certainly put two and two together."

"I think we can get away with it," Heather advised. "We can take precautions to avoid being recognized. Split up while in town. Avoid moving around together in large groups. Have a good cover story just in case someone recognizes us."

"She's right," Ike agreed. "Eventually we'll need to resupply, and we're going to run into this problem wherever we go. We're in Bengion now; every town is going to have Bengion soldiers. Here at least we can beat them if they force us into a fight. We're far enough out from the cities that we don't have to worry about reinforcements coming in from the central garrisons."

"Okay then…" Soren considered. "Let's say we do this her way. We're in town, we're noticed, and the guards start getting nosy. What's our cover story?"

"We have a private contract fighting bandits?" Ike offered.

"No…to cliché. They'll know its fake," Heather scoffed. "Tell them the Griel Mercenaries are in town for the arena challenge. The Kahyaeta Circuit is famous for its world class competition. They'll believe it."

"Alright! I know what I'm doing tomorrow," Mia perked up at the prospect of an arena duel. "You up for team-doubles, or am I gonna have to go it alone Boyd?"

"Yeah… I'm always up for a good brawl," Boyd offered.

"Perfect. If anyone asks, that's the only reason we're here," Heather instructed. "Stick to that story and we won't have problems."

* * *

"Hey, I know you you're General Ike!"

"Fuck my life…" Ike swore under his breath. It had taken the town's soldiers all of two seconds to recognize him. He really was getting too famous for his own good. "Yeah, that's me. I'm Ike. Hero of Tellius. What do you want?"

"You don't remember me sir? Sergeant Stipps, I served a tour of duty in Daein back in the Mad King's War. You were the ranking general in the field. I fought under your command."

"I had a lot of men under my command, soldier. I don't remember most of them."

"I thought you'd remember the time I walked into your tent bothering you for a promotion, sir. You chewed me out for half an hour. Then I started crying."

"Stop calling me 'sir.' I'm not a general anymore. It's just Commander Ike now. And yeah…I do remember that actually. What are you doing here Stipps?"

"I believe that's my line. I'm head of the guard, and you're in my town. What business brings you to Kahyaeta, Crimean?"

"Must be looking for work fighting off the sub-humans," the soldiers at his side chortled. "Filthy beasts, can't kill them fast enough."

"Actually…" Ike barely managed to keep his temper in check. He was undercover in enemy territory, he reminded himself. He had to put up with this ignorance. "…We're just here to make some quick gold in the arena. We have a big job coming up, and we need to get moving again in a day or two."

"Fair enough," Sergeant Stipps nodded his approval. "I won't keep you from your work Commander. Just don't let me catch your boys doing anything illegal in my town, you hear? Law's the law; break it on my watch and I'll have to throw the book at you."

"Understood, I'll keep them on a short leash."

Ike actually had very little interaction with his mercenaries during the next few days. He took his meals at the local tavern and attended a few of Boyd's matches but otherwise kept a very low profile, mostly spending his time accompanying Heather on her ruin expeditions.

"I hate being famous," he would confide in her on the descent into an ancient amphitheater, partially buried under 3,000 years of accumulated sand drifts. "I miss the good old days where I could actually go out in public without getting mobbed."

"Poor baby," Heather teased. "That's the price you pay for being so damn good at everything."

"Not too good at this…" Ike slid awkwardly down his length of rope and dropped bum-first onto the stone slabs below. Heather landed gently on her feet. "So apparently I suck at spelunking. I learned something new about myself today."

"That's not how you hold the rope," Heather giggled as Ike picked himself and brushed the sand off his backside. "You've never done anything even remotely like this before, have you?"

"No, treasure hunting isn't part of my usual routine. You've got me trying something new," Ike admitted. "So…we're here now. What do we do?"

"We go down," Heather instructed "all the valuable stuff comes from really old ruins. The really old ruins are all gonna be deep underground."

"Alright, so we just want to head over to these stairs and…OW! SON OF A BITCH!" Ike stepped on a rigged tile and accidently set of a needle-dart trap. Rows of what Ike had thought were purely ornamental faces carved into the ruin walls opened their mouth and proceeded to pepper him with the light projectiles. Where his leather armor was at its weakest, or where he was just plain old unprotected, the needles were easily sharp enough to break skin.

"I told you not to run off on your own," Heather sighed. "Now you're all scratched up. Come here, let me take a look. I have medicine."

"I'm fine," Ike pulled a dart out of his cheek. "I'll get Mist to throw some magic on it later. No need to waste perfectly good potion on scratches."

"It's not a waste if it makes you feel better," Heather dabbed her finger in a bottle of vulnerary. She ran her hands over Ike, tracing his scars with draught-soaked fingertips until they disappeared. Ike, despite his earlier protests against wasting supplies, didn't raise a single complaint. "It might not be a serious injury, but it still has to hurt. Plus, the darts could have been poisoned. Why even take the risk?"

"True…" Ike stared intently as the rogue went to work disabling the stairwell's defenses, not quite sure what else to say. Quickly moving from one task to another as only a thief could, she had already flipped over the tile that had set off Ike's needle trap and traced its clockwork gears back to a crumbling pillar in the main antechamber. She was now busily twiddling it's mechanisms with her collection of probes and lock picks, not at all afraid to get her hands dirty in the effort. Even with sand in her hair and grease on her face she was still gorgeous, Ike noted. More than a pretty face; she wasn't just some bimbo blonde who had stumbled into his camp fawning over hero's renown. She clearly had the brains and the talent to be a team player. Ike respected that.

"There, that should just about do it…" Heather looked over her work. Everything seemed to be in order. "Let's try that again. No needles this time."

"A welcome improvement…"

Ike and Heather descended the stairwell without further incident. The passage was lit by torchlight, a detail which did not escape Ike's notice.

"Hey Heather," Ike asked warily. "When you say this place is really, really old, how old are we talking here?"

"Three thousand years on the upper levels. Five thousand on the lower ones."

"So if this place is so old, how come the torches are still lit?"

"Really strong fire magic. Either that, or we're not the only ones down here."

"That's what I'm thinking," Ike drew his sword. "Someone cares enough to keep this place properly lit. That means someone's been spending a lot of time here. I think we're about to walk right into a bandit's lair."

"I think we already did…"

As the chattering duo rounded the last curve in the stairwell helix, an entire gang of ruffians stood to greet them: five axe fighters, three swordsmen, two archers, a mage, and a tiger. Ike had only a brief moment to take in the layout of the room he had just stumbled into; the place looked to be set up like a bar scene. Most of the area was taken up with wooden tables and chairs. Three enormous kegs and a makeshift counter took up the left corner on the far side of the hideout. Mugs of ale and bags of loot were everywhere. It seemed as though the gang had been celebrating a successful raid with a hearty game of drink, and was now most annoyed to be interrupted by intruders.

"Remember when I said if something happens, you'll be glad I tagged along," Ike smirked. "Do you wanna thank me now or later?"


End file.
